Two Faces of the Moon

In the shadow of a moon with two faces, I walk, a tangled web of woven traces. His kindness, light that warms a wintry day, His wrath, a storm that sweeps my thoughts away. Twice-born, he seems, in this shifting form, God in the sunrise, devil in the storm. I sought a path, a compass true and north, To steer clear of him, yet escape his worth. His laughter echoes, bright and joyous chime, Then fades to whispers lost in cruelest time. His hand, a fortress, safe and strong and warm, Then turns to iron, leaving hearts forlorn. I built my walls, each brick a whispered vow, To never mirror what I see somehow. Yet in the mirror, glimpses haunt my gaze, His eyes, his smile, in unexpected ways. But wait, a spark, a thread of sunlit gold, He shares his stories, secrets yet untold. His flaws, a mirror, sharp and unforgiving, A chance to mend, to rise, to start re-living. Perhaps the moon holds wisdom in its sway, Not light or dark, but both to find the way. To weave the threads, the kindness and the pain, Into a tapestry, my own, unique domain. For in the dance of light and darkest shade, My father's face, a lesson unafraid. To break the cycle, choose a different light, And be the sun, not moon, in my own night. So let me rise, above the borrowed gloom, Embrace the fragments, forge a different room. My father's shadow, long and ever near, But I, the sun, will cast my own light, clear.